Vendetta
by jai-kun
Summary: ONESHOT Vengeance is a dish best served cold, but often served in the heat of anger.


"No!" Pansy's blonde hair whipped from side to side as she glared, standing in front of the hearth as if that would prevent anything. "You are not going out!"

Vince's eyes narrowed. They'd had this conversation, and only the swell in her belly stopped him from physically removing her from the floo. "I've told yo-"

"I don't care, you selfish prat!" Her eyes were blazing, and she came at him, hands curled like claws. He caught her by the wrists. He couldn't ignore the stirrings in his pants, but he did suppress the fierce grin that wanted to slide over his mouth. She was magnificent when she was angry. She was magnificent after she was angry as well. But right now, he had to pass her to heed the Call. "I don't care, I need you here, now, and you are no--"

He did it, then, lightly, enough to snap her out of whatever hormonal frenzy she was working up. She looked up at him, shocked, the red print on her face just beginning to show. "I will say this one more time," he growled, causing a familiar light in her eyes to make him want to take her, right then and there. "I am doing this to keep you safe, to keep you and the baby whole, so that Fucking Bastard," he snarled it in her face, reminding her of the one time that she'd met his father, "doesn't come after you and try to make a 'more worthy heir'."

She trembled, and he knew she was remembering everything. How his father had grabbed her, almost pulled her up the stairs, not yet knowing that Vince's child was already growing in her, or not yet caring. How Vince had tried to hurt the old man, but instead was rebuffed, until he finally roared at his father that he would do it. He would take the Mark, but to leave her to him. The coldness in his eyes wasn't pleasure or pain, but loathing for the old man, but it had convinced Vince's father of what he wanted.

It had convinced Pansy, too.

She quailed, not in weakness, but in frustration. The slap would have aroused her if the situation wasn't so serious. He'd never once hit her in anger. He'd once told her, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he wouldn't be like his father, and that had been enough for her. Now... she was angry, and powerless, and she hated his father and the Dark Lord and Harry Potter and every fucking thing that made her baby unsafe.

"I hate you," she whispered, snarling against her tears. "I hate what you are. I hate that it's the only thing that makes us safe. I hate you, you bloody..." She wailed, and clutched his robes, and wept, and he let her for minutes before he set her on the couch, looked at the black mark, and Apparated away.

* * *

"You're late," Viktor Crabbe snarled as Vincent appeared.

"There was a problem with my heir. The Dark Lord understands," Vincent shot back smugly, as the Dark Lord had commanded more children and that the utmost care be taken with them. Viktor sneered, but said nothing about it. Instead, he launched into the plan of the night.

"The Dark Lord wishes to end your initiation." He pointed to a house, where Death Eaters were already tormenting Muggles. Vincent swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. "A Muggle has presumed to seduce a wizard, and the spawn must be dealt with." Viktor's cruel voice smelled of whisky. "You're to do it. It will be a... small... step. But it will be good enough." He paused, then grinned, savagely. "For now."

Vincent narrowed his eyes, pulled the mask over his face, and turned as two wizards dragged a hysterical, screaming woman out of the burning house by her hair. Her cries made Vincent grit his teeth and swallow, reminding him of Pansy, at home, sobbing against her hands, railing at him to stay, hating him for what he made himself.

One day, she would hate him in heart as well as in word, and leave. He dreaded it, secretly.

The woman was held by two wizards, a sack over her eyes, one of them holding the sack and what must have been her hair underneath. Behind Vincent, Viktor whispered raspily. "Do it now. One quick flick, and she's snuffed it, and a travesty is left unborn. Do it." Vincent's wand dipped, and Viktor snarled. "Do it or she DIES!"

Vincent's heart skipped, and he concentrated all of his hatred, all of his loathing for his father, and bellowed the words. "Avada Kedavera!"

The woman stiffened, and a long, keening cry of denial was cut off as the spell hit. She went limp and fell, the wizards having moved just before the spell hit, the one holding the sack pulling it with him. A cascade of blonde hair fell out of it.

Blonde, honey colored hair, long enough to be... Vincent choked and yanked his mask away, dashing to the woman, hands trembling. He rolled her over.

The dead, blue eyes stared accusingly up at him, and Pansy's words echoed in his head. _I hate you. I hate you._

A fluttering movement from her midriff pushed against his chest, writhing and struggling, growing weaker and weaker before he realized that the child was still alive in her, for the short time he'd held her to his chest. He pushed her away, bringing his wand to bear, but Viktor's vice like grip stopped him. "It's too late. It's gone."

It. Not him. Not the baby. It. Vincent roared, spun out of Viktor's grip, and said the words again with such power that the entire grouping of Death Eaters were dead before they drew their wands.

* * *

He knelt in front of the Dark Lord and did not meet his eyes. A long, cold moment of silence stretched to eternity. He didn't care.

"You disappoint me, Vincent. I have lost five men today by the hands of my own. Why?"

He did not start at the Dark Lord's seeming mercy. He found he didn't care. He found, in fact, that he would welcome death. "Vengeance, My Lord," he whispered, all the volume he could produce after the spell he'd roared had damaged his vocal cords.

The Dark Lord looked at him, then rose. "Arise, Vincent. My faithful servant."

A/N: This story came about for two reasons. It was based on a Harry Potter roleplay I was in, in which some of the Slytherins had effectively switched sides for their own reasons. The most startling change was that Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were not the morons they seemed to be (mainly 'cause I didn't want to play a moron).

Of course, the other reason it was written was for Gundam Legends, in the 2006 year. I missed it when I was posting the other stories, so it gets posted now.


End file.
